


Simple Awakening

by Crystalliced



Series: Memoirs of a Violinist [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Accidents, Backbends, F/M, Letters, New Writing Style?, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystalliced/pseuds/Crystalliced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a simple display of basic human decency that causes me to smile.</p><p>Experimental writing style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What People Will Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Relyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relyh/gifts).



**2\. Simple Awakenings**

It’s a simple display of basic human decency.

Rating:  General  
Pairing:  Tyler x Lindsey  
World:  Take Flight, AU

     A muted shriek startles me out of my daydreaming, and I quickly move to look as busy as possible so that I can remain undisturbed by what I know is coming.  The ruse fails.

     "Um, excuse me."  A short brunette (red shirt, white skirt, looking out of place surrounded by the tall aisles at the grocery I work for, Ez-Shop) walks up to me a few minutes later as I reorganize the cereal boxes in row 12, shoving a box of Honey-O’s to the back.  “Hm?  Is something the matter?”  I ask politely,  sincerely hoping there isn’t.  I’ve spent the last thirty minutes pretending to be busy in an attempt to ward off attention, like the kind that this girl is giving me.

    “Yeah, I dropped a case of bottled water at the display in the back.  Um, well, maybe more than one...”  Her hand brushes a small scrape on her knee (drawing my attention to her long legs and slim waist, amongst other things)   “I’m pretty sure it was seventeen cases.”

    “So, all of them?”  I confirm, internally sighing while maintaining the smile on my face.  (It took me a good twenty minutes to set them up in a way that didn’t trigger my OCD)  

    “Pretty much.”  

    “They broke open.”  It’s supposed to be a question but I already know the answer.  

    “Yeah, there’s water everywhere.”  (Of course there is.  Guess who gets to clean that mess up?)  She offers me an apologetic smile.  (She’s actually pretty cute.  Though her eyes keep flickering away as if she’s in a hurry to get somewhere, so I guess there’s that.  Another pointless excursion.)

    “Alright.  I’ll go grab, what, half a dozen paper towel rolls?”  The girl shakes her head morosely.  “I’d say twenty.”  (How does one person create that big of a mess?!)

    “Really?”  I say, and I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice.   “And you made that spill by yourself?”  

    “Yep.”  I eye her dry clothes critically.  “It was me trying not to get wet that made it worse.”  (Clumsy?  Or incredibly graceful?)  I glance at her ridiculously relaxed posture.  (A total ditz, perhaps.)

     “Okay.”  I say, unable to muffle my sigh.  I can’t help but notice the guilty look on her face.  “Lead the way.”  She nods and takes off running, pausing briefly when I pull two packages of toilet paper off a shelf.

     “...Wow.”  Is all I can bring myself to say, staring at the small lake that the girl next to me has created.  “Not going to lie, I’m a bit impressed.  It takes a lot of talent to create this much destruction.”  She winces.  (I ignore the pang of guilt I feel.)

      “...Sorry.”  

      The water covers about half of the floor, a sizable feat considering the display was in the back of the store, which had the most empty space.  The brunette was right, I really might actually need twenty roll of paper towels for this.  (And an hour or two of overtime.  Holy hell.)

     “Um, Nick?”  I hadn’t realized that the girl had pulled out her cell phone.  She looks understandably anxious.  “Yeah.  I know, but they’re going to need to hold the show for a bit.”  The girl glances at the mess on the ground.  “Fifteen minutes, maybe?”  Some incomprehensible shouting through the speaker (I hear the name “Lindsey!” mentioned more than once.)  “I know, I know!  Just stall, or something, until then?  Yes, please.  Thanks.  Oh, I’m at the shopping mall across the hall.  Sure, you can come, but don’t forget to hold the show first!  Yeah, sure, you can come if you like.  Okay.  See you.”  She hangs up as I rip open the first package of towels.

      “Can I have one?”  (What?)  My thoughts are clearly plastered onto my face because she points.  “You know, the towels.”

      “Um, why?”

      “So I can help you.”  (Never happened before.  Normally people just stand over me like watching me clean the spill they caused is the most interesting thing in the world.  A few people leave.)

      “It’s my job to clean it.  I’ll be fine.”   

      “And it’s my job as a person with common decency to help you clean up my mess, so give me a towel roll, _please._ ”  

     “Alright, alright.”  I intentionally throw a roll at her head and am surprised to see her catch it out of the air.  Amazing dexterity.

     “Thanks.”  I blink.  “Erm, okay?”  For a moment, I simply watch the girl, completely dumbfounded, as she carefully wipes away at the water before pulling out the paper towels further to absorb more liquid.  “Fascinating.”  I whisper to myself, and she looks up at me.  “Huh?”  

     “Oh, nothing.  Also, you shouldn’t, um, be positioned like that.  People can see right up your-”

     “O-Oh.”  Lindsey says, blushing, dropping down to more of a sitting position.  (I had a nice view.  Damn my conscience.)  

     “So...”  I try to break the awkward silence of my own creation.  “Lindsey, huh?”  The brunette focuses intently on her task.

     “I’m sorry for protecting your decency.”  I mutter quietly (I’m not.) and she glances up at me.  

     “You peeked.”  Lindsey says accusingly.  (Maybe a lot.)

     “Not by choice.”  I say, rolling my eyes.  “I didn’t see anything, anyways.”  (Complete lie.)

     “...Sorry, I think.”  We’ve already managed to go through an entire roll of paper towels, which is mostly due to my idea of unravelling the roll and throwing them everywhere, much to her amusement.

     We clean up the spill quickly, once she decides to join in my party, and it only takes us...  “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen...”

     “Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.”  I stack the leftover cardboard rolls in a small pile.  She drags the last of the paper towels in the trash can.  “Eighteen.”  She whispers, pulling out another roll to clean up the pooling trail of water she created in taking all the towels to the trash can.  Amazingly, only her hands and arms are soaked - her clothes, with obviously great effort, have remained dry.

     “Well, we’re done here.”  Lindsey stretches, then does an incredible backbend that causes her hair to brush the ground.  

     “That looks painful.”  I say, blinking, and brunette only grins.  “It’s just a warmup.”  (That’s right, she has some sort of show, but she did say fifteen minutes, and it’s only been ten.  So I won’t remind her, because she’s fun to talk to.)  

     “Oh?  Are you a gymnast?”

     “I’m a violinist.”  She says, with a slight smirk (Doing backbends?  Just what kind of musician...)

     “A performance artist.”  I realize, and Lindsey grins.  

     “Yup.”  Her eyes catch the wall clock behind me.  “Oh, I really do need to go. “  She looks around at the leftover plastic and cardboard.  “...Do I need to pay for this, or...”

      Of course you do, silly girl.  Not to mention the four pages of paperwork to clear yourself of what my manager would call “vandalism” (Destroying $50 worth of stuff?  Totally fine.  Destroying $50.01 worth of stuff?  Call the police, thank you very much.)

      “Nah.”  I say smoothly.  “You have a show to get to, correct?”

      “...I actually came here to get some water...”  Without hesitation, I lean over and accidentally kick a package of water bottles off the shelf, tearing a hole in it a second later.  Three bottles are roughly shoved into her hands.  

      “There.  Now you’re good.  Off you go!”  (She’s going to be late.  I get the feeling that it wouldn’t be the first time.)

      “But I didn’t pay-”  I clap a hand over her mouth.  “No idea what you’re talking about.”  I say merrily, pulling a small tape canister off my belt.  Three strips of bright red tape onto her sort-of purchase later and I’m escorting her out the door as a black-haired man runs up to us.  

     “Lindsey!  I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but if we don’t go now, the show’s going to be canceled!”  She glances at me, mumbles a final apology and thank-you, and dashes off, the stranger pausing to spare me a look.

     “Thanks for taking care of her.”  And without a second thought, he’s off as I smile, bemused.

_It’s the first time I’ve smiled in weeks._

    That’s right.  Yesterday an odd girl ran into my life with and left, just as quickly.  But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that she’s had a profound effect on my outlook towards life.  (And something as stupidly simple as...)

    ...Helping clean up her own spill?

    People don’t do that.  It isn’t a thing.  (But for her, it is.)

    And she held off a show, one that was apparently very important to her, judging by her continued anxiety and the urgency of her friend.  (And she found the time to smile and laugh, and in the process, somehow make me feel better.)

    “Lindsey, huh?  Hm...”

    A quick google search gives me everything I need.  A musician.  A violinist.

    A performance artist.  I hadn’t realized just how fitting the title was.

    I met a celebrity.  And we had a normal conversation like normal human beings.  And she cleaned up her own spill.

     Common decency in someone who is, by definition, supposed to be a stuck-up brat?

     ...Who is this girl?


	2. The Letter

     A few days later, I receive a message in the mail.

     ...For some reason, I’m not surprised when it’s sent from, of all the places, Russia.

Dear Tyler (HAHA!  I know your name now!  Don’t even ask how I got your address :3), 

    I’m honestly not too sure why I’m writing this.  I just felt compelled to pick up a pen and write this while on the plane to Russia, because I couldn’t sleep and the food, quite honestly, was inedible.  Finding your name on my phone, let alone your address, was, or should have been, basically impossible, because by definition you had been a stranger.  I didn’t even know your name.  But I’ve been told that I’m a pretty stubborn person, so, I don’t really give up.

     I don’t think you managed to figure out who I was, besides my first name, and you definitely won’t be able to find me.  In fact, even if you hopped on a plane right now and took a flight to where I will be when I send this letter, you won’t be able to catch me, because I’ll be in another town by then.  That was my last performance in the US, at least for now.  I won’t be around for a while, but your reply is certainly something I can look forward to ^.^ that is, if it is forthcoming.  I hope so.

     You were sad that day, weren’t you?  I think the word is contemplative.  In thought, anxious...?  But I saw you smile as you watched us go.  (Not the time where I was talking to you about my spill.  We both know that was soooo fake.)  Why did you smile?  Did I somehow do something important, or startling?  Or were you just stifling a laugh because I was such a clumsy dork?  Or were you merely happy because such a terrible customer was finally going?

     Honestly, I’m not too sorry for spilling those water bottles.  I’m pretty happy myself, even though I chose the most inconvenient, silly, terrible time to trip, especially because I was in such a rush, because watching that smile slide onto your face like it was the most natural thing in the world was so worth it to see.  Until then, you had refrained from showing any real emotion, besides a polite facade and a little bit of sarcastic wit.  (You peeked.  I know you did.  Jerk.)  

    But if I was the one that made you smile, then I am very happy I got to meet you.  Because that small smile on your face looked so natural.  You were meant to have real happiness on your face like that, even if that was your way of silently laughing at me for being a dork.  That made my day.  So, yeah.  That’s pretty much it, but one thing.  When I get back, in a few months, assuming that you’re not too busy and that you haven’t totally forgotten who I am, maybe we could go somewhere to eat?  I’m not really picky, so, yeah, just something to think about.   I have my phone number here, so, text me, sometime, would you?  Just kinda remember the timezones x.x Russia’s a long time from the US.  

     So, yeah.  I’d love to see that smile on your face again!

  Cheers from Russia, Lindsey~

     I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face as I read the letter, nor can I stop the blush from spreading across my cheeks.

    Because, after all, she sort of, kind of, asks me on a date, and that’s not something I’ll be turning down for anything.  I pull out my phone.

    ..........

    “Hello?

**     “...Hey, Lindsey.  Remember me?”   
**

**Author's Note:**

> Lindsey Stirling (c) Lindsey Stirling  
> Tyler (c) Crystalliced


End file.
